Lasers Are Extremely Inconvenient
by UnicornWhovian
Summary: Irene Adler has been providing for third world countries for years by doing robin hood jobs all over the world. Once the Russian government wants to spend 60 million dollars on a civil war, she feels it's her job to step in and do something about it. But she cannot do it alone, she has to call in help from James Moriarty. After refusing to kiss him, he wants to take the money.


Irene Adler/James Moriarty Fanfiction That Still Needs A Name

Written By Anna Tichenor

With Help of Gabby Gojko

Irene woke up from a hard night; sore legs, a badly burnt back (she never liked lasers) but it was all worth it. She went to the bathroom to inspect the damage of the previous night; she knew she couldn't remain in the same place for long, but she could spare a little time. She had some minor burns on her back from the lasers, it wasn't her fault though; who the hell puts real lasers as security? They're always stupid security lasers that are easily detected by some powder, but nope. Real lasers. The American government is so stupid in too many ways, but that's okay. She was returning to Russia in a couple of hours. She decided to work on her new uniform, this time, all leather. She couldn't risk a cotton "spy-suit" again. She did her usual morning routine; teeth-brushing, gun cleaning, bed making, the usual. She didn't have to work as hard on clean up, she's usually nice about picking up after herself in hotels; but, apparently, if you have a gun visible on you they won't grant you a room; these Americans need to calm down. After a few hours, she got a cab to the airport for her private jet; she was too easily detected on a normal flight. The plane ride was an agonizing 4 hours, but eventually she arrived home to mother Russia. The flight landed, and she got in her car to drive her oh-so-familiar route home from her runway. Once she arrived home, she parked her car onto the rectangle in the middle of seemingly nowhere, and it descended into the ground, and a patch of "grass" covered the cars hidey hole. She pushed few buttons on a keypad under a stop sign, and an elevator rose from the ground; she walked into it, and descended into the ground. Once in her underground mansion, Irene had work to do, and lots of it. She walked into her study full of books, old electronics, and a desk with the latest computer gadgets. She sat at her desk and began typing furiously a frequenting pattern of code. Once done, she got to looking at the news for a new job; an idea for a robbery, a charity in need of some funds, a betraying government, it was an eeny meeny miney moe kind of game she had to play, and often. She turned on the television only to find out the Russian government was planning to, not only, raise taxes a ludicrous amount, but invest more money in the civil war that was started by none other than themselves. Her new job was a go: rob the Russian government of the 60 million they were planning to spend, and invest it in some much more needing charity. Another robin hood, it was normal these days. She's the most wanted woman in 63 countries, and the most loved in 126; fair enough. The job was a little overwhelming though, it was the most amount of money she was ever going to steal from the country she had grown to love, she needed to call in help. She needed loads more computer engineers to decipher and devise enough code to complete the job, but would never be able to have her 60 finish the job in time. She really hated having to do this, but she would have to call in help from the man himself, James Moriarty. She remembered him well, a consulting criminal. No, **the** consulting criminal, the only one in the world. He helped her on some previous crimes, he was helpful, she had grown as a villain/hero. She paced her library, working up the courage to dial the keys, pacing, deep breaths, deep breaths, in, out, in, out, sighs. "Why am I nervous? I'm Irene Adler! The modern worlds Robin Hood! I shouldn't be nervous. Why am I nervous? Just dial the numbers Irene, dial them, now!" she furiously, yet quickly dialed the 12 digit phone number and pounded the large green button. "Gaah! Why the hell would I do that? Damn-it!" It was too late though, he already picked up the phone. "James Moriarty, at your service. What do you want?" He sounded annoyed. "Yes hello James, it's Irene. I need your help." "Oh, Irene! Will isn't it lovely hearing from you, long time no speak! What have you been up to? No, don't answer that, I already know; I love your work! Not so much what you do with the reward, but that's out of my control." He sounded sarcastic, in a non-sarcastic kind of way.  
"Have you heard of what the Russian government wants to do? It sickens me, and I want to stop them, but I don't have enough computer programmers to get the job done, and most I could get would tattle. Can you help?"  
"Under what conditions? And what's the pay, I don't do charity work."  
"I'll pay you whatever you want, but can you help me?"  
"Of course I can. Shall I fly out tomorrow to see you, and we can do our work under non-government surveillance?"  
"It's a date. I'll see you then."  
"Great, Bye."  
Once he hung up, she slammed the phone closed and slumped down on the nearest couch. She decided to keep her work until the next day, and get the much needed 8 hours of sleep. The next day, she sent the car to pick him up, he got into the car, and was silent the whole car ride. Once he arrived inside, he was greeted by an anxious Irene stretching her arm out for a handshake. He calmly raised his hand to comply with the action. It almost seemed he was unfamiliar with the handshake, but in reality, he was just tired and slightly annoyed. They entered her study, and sat at a table across from each other, working out plans for the robbery in place, and settling other details needed. Once they decided it was time to end for the day, it was 10 o'clock at night. They went to her kitchen to devise some dinner, of sorts, and sit at the kitchen. Jim was still wearing his sunglasses from hours before when he arrived.  
"Why are you still wearing those sunglasses?"  
"I plan on wearing them for the next week or so, I don't need you knowing my face."  
"You know I've seen your face about a million times on the news stories, our previous work together, and in numerous photographs. Right?"  
"Well, damn-it!" he removed his sunglasses and slid them in the front pocket of his suit jacket, right next to the gun; of course. They both sat down at the elegantly dressed table for dinner, and ate their course of spaghetti and meatballs. Silence filled the room, not even the sound of two evil geniuses eating pasta, could fill the awkward silence that rested peacefully, but annoyingly, on both of their shoulders. Jim finally spoke to break the silence, but sure as hell did not break the awkwardness.

"Do you know how much of an inconvenience it is to be here now?"  
"Well it didn't sound too inconvenient on the phone."

"Well, it was. I had to wake up at 6 o'clock in the morning to fly to mother Russia, fill out every form known to man. By the way, if anybody asks, my name is Phillip Scott, coming to Russia to see his grandmother."  
"Well, you know you didn't have to use general flights, right? If you needed to I could've sent my private jet. And what happened to yours?"

"Oh, that's not of any importance right now, just know that I mean serious business right now, okay?"  
"Yes, your highness." she responded sarcastically, he was frustrated with her; but he knew what was coming so no need to already break his plan.  
"By the way, next week on the 25th, I'm taking the day off."  
"Why the hell would you do that? You're robbing the Russian government of 60 million dollars, and committing the biggest crime on your record, and you want a day off?" He sounded befuddled, and angry.  
"Well, it's Christmas, and it's my birthday. Also, everyone needs a day off on occasion."  
"Okay, valid excuse. But you're punishment for wanting a day off is you'll have to spend it with me because I have nowhere to stay."  
"Why can't you stay in a hotel?"  
"I did a thing way back; about ten years ago, anyways. I'm not allowed a stay at any hotel in the east side of Russia. They all have a picture of me on their "do not allow rooms" list. It's actually quite funny."  
"I'm not even going to ask what you did."  
"And we're going to keep it that way." he smiled a sarcastic smile, very clowny. It would be easy to imagine he was a difficult child to raise, look what he's grown to be, though.  
"Alright, you can stay with me until our whole operation is over; just don't be annoying."  
"No promises."  
"Good enough."  
They finished their meals in silence; a nice, humorous silence. They each knew it was going to be a pleasant time because of their mutual interest in causing trouble. Over the course of the week, they spent countless hours planning, researching, training, calling, and eating meals in silence. When the week had ended, and the 25th of December had rolled around, Irene slept in. Something she got to do only once a year. When she woke up, she found Jim curled up on the couch, watching Monk on her 60 inch television. She knew the feeling quite well, it was snowing outside, which was always lovely. It was no fun when it rained because you could hear it above you at a pitter patter of about 10,000 drops per second. When it snowed there was just nice little ticks every so often, it was relaxing. The fireplace was rolling, Monk was wiping his kitchen counter with Windex, and Jim was looking at Irene observe the room; the nice, relaxing, quiet room. Jim patted the seat next to him on the gigantic leather couch, inviting Irene to join him for a Monk marathon by the fireplace. After about 4 hours of Monk, Irene dragged Jim to the mall for her birthday/Christmas shopping, and they returned home with loads of shopping mall bags with various brand names printed on each bag. They entered her underground mansion, and returned to the sofa as if they were magnets, and turned the television straight to Monk again. It seemed as though it was the best birthday she's had in over 10 years, it was very pleasant. She was seated next to Jim on the couch, her knees tucked close to her chest, and Jim leaning back as though the couch was about to swallow him whole. He looked at her with a sort of glisten in his eye, like he'd never seen a woman before. He sat up, startling her. Their faces about 5 inches away, Jim leaned closer and closer to her face, mumbling the words "Happy Birthday." His cold lips touched her plumped, glossy lips. They shared the kiss for all of about 2 seconds until David felt a sharp pain strike his cheek, and next he knew he was lying on the ground with Natasha staring at him with a look of anger and frustration.  
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?" shouted David, furiously.  
"I could ask you the exact same question, sweetheart."  
He was absolutely furious with her now; he just would not have it anymore. He stood up and walked out of the room like an angry toddler. Natasha sat back on her plumpy leather couch, enjoying monk for another hour or so until David marched back into the room.  
"Okay, seriously, why did you do that?"  
"Answer that exact same question as if it had just been said from my mouth, and I will answer it as it had just escaped from yours."  
"Okay, you're pretty, and it's your birthday. Now you."  
"We're business partners, not lovers. I'm not one for a committed relationship, I don't want one, especially with you; and you know that."  
He walked out of the room again, this time with a little more stride in his step and an evil look on his face. He knew he was going to corrupt Irenes plan in some way, but he wasn't sure how though; but he had all of the tools he needed right there. When Natasha was busy with her daily and nightly activities, he was in her study looking for some way he could tip her off and get her jailed for life. After hours of looking, and looking, it finally smacked him in the head. Someway he could ruin her little plan. For a while, she would think everything is just okay, but her fake check won't last her too long. He was going to help her break into the main building, and was going to take the 60 million for himself. But not just the 60 million, he was going to take just a little extra pocket change; 4 billion to be exact. He planned the whole thing out that night, he finished the break-in plans, and he conjured the whole plan himself. After a long night of work, he hid his plans away, and slept. The next morning, he told her of his plans; the part she wanted to know anyways. That afternoon they suited up, memorized the plans, and got into her car to drive to the capital building. Once they arrived, they unloaded all the necessary elements involved in robbing a government. They snuck inside, slipped around security lasers; not real lasers, thank goodness for Irene. They did all of their necessary hacking as such, and when Irene went away to the vault to take the money in its physical form, James went to his work on the computer; he would take the money later. She loaded all 60 million dollars into the large black vans they had, and they all drove off; to a different location than she had planned; much to Jims liking. He was still typing away on his computer for his absolutely evil plan; Irene walked behind him, patted him hard on the back and exclaimed, "Close the vault dumbass; our work here is done." He did as he was told, and closed the vault. He stayed back for an extra 2 seconds to deposit 4 billion dollars. He turned off the computer, picked up his bag, and turned around only to find Irene pointing a gun at him.

"Okay, what now?"  
"You know what. I want you to put the money back, and now."  
"How'd you know?"  
"You don't think I know what is going on in my own house at all times?"  
"Well done, you've outsmarted me. Put the gun down, and I'll move the money and everything will be as it was."  
"Sure it will, now put the money back."  
"Yes, your highness."  
She rolled her eyes as Jim sat at the computer. He pressed the on button, waiting for the computer to turn on. In an instant, he spun the chair around, flipping the gun out of her hands and into his. He rose from his chair, Irene, with her hands behind her head, and Jim pointing the gun at her.  
"Give me a reason I shouldn't kill you now?"  
"Because I'm pretty."  
"Well, it's no longer your birthday. Sorry!"  
He pulled the trigger, sending a bullet across the room, forgetting he was in a room made completely of metal. Irene swayed out of the way instantly, and the bullet ricashaed off of two walls, and pierced the skull of James Moriarty, killing him instantly. He fell, a perfect faint, backwards, landing hard on the floor. Irene took a few steps forward, and switched the 4 billion dollars back to where it belongs. When she was done, she collected both of their things, and threw them into the trunk of her car. She returned one last time before the night was over, just one last look at him. She knelt down on one leg, staring at his face, both eyes open. She began to speak to the corpse, drooling blood out of his head.  
"Hey look, I beat you. Now isn't that a surprise? Don't underestimate me. Well, I guess you can't anymore. But, it was nice working with you."  
She reached her head down, and placed her lips onto his cold, still lips; no longer full of life. Doing this almost made her sad, but she knew the feeling would pass eventually. She stood up, and turned around only to find several largely built men standing behind her with large guns pointed right at her.  
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."  
"Irene Adler, I'm not sure whether to shoot you or thank you. But, given the circumstances, I'm afraid I have no choice."  
She was completely surrounded. All of the men had bulletproof vests and helmets on, and she had a leather suit; very fitting, but not bulletproof. She heard a consecutive fire of about 7 guns all at once, pointed at her, shooting bullets through her body. She closed her eyes, in acceptance of her defeat. She fell backwards after about 15 bullets through her chest. In her last moments, all she could think about was Jim, how unbelievably stupid, ignorant, selfish, and amazing he was. As she was lying over his cold, dead, body; dying, she, with difficulty, mumbled into his ear "Sorry. For. The. Inconvenience."


End file.
